The air was too heavy for me. I couldn’t stand it much longer and I think you knew it too. How can I rest in peace if I’m still alive? Jess asked me this repeatedly and I still don’t have the answer. I don’t think the world is gracious enough to give her a hint. The world doesn’t give. The world watches and waits to dig its teeth in between your skin. I hate how everyone pretends that God isn’t real- like they’re too smart to believe such a mystery. It’s like watching people laugh in the face of the sun- yet they turn to it for warmth. And if everything set in darkness then we wouldn’t be able to see a fucking thing. How lovely and true and heartbreaking all at once. Sometimes I want scream in everyone’s face- tell them all how they overwhelm me with their stupid opinions and boring stories and needy hands that reach towards me every time I see them. Crack the surface of every part of me that feels buried. Stop begging myself to bloom and start by coming up for some fucking air. Maybe I’ll cut a piece of my heart out to relieve the pressure and let it dissipate. Run out of oxygen for a little while and understand the meaning of rest while the rest of the world keeps spinning on and on and on and on. Shatter every vase that tried to constrict the stems of flowers. Write my poems on all the walls in permanent marker. Smoke cigarettes in the living room and drink bourbon out of the bottle. Throw the fine China off the second floor to see how beautiful breaking to pieces can look. Breath in my own form of medicine because the air clearly isn’t feeding me. It’s too heavy lately. AMT